


Love the Stick-in-the-Mud

by prettynose



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: After Corypheus is Killed, Before Tresspasser, Self-Indulgent, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-27 08:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7611790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettynose/pseuds/prettynose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basically, I find myself in Skyhold and am not particularly sure what's going on. I'm still really socially awkward and I miss the internets. (Also, since I'm a witch IRL I get to be a mage, but because magic there is so different and much less subtle than here, I have zero skills and need training).<br/>I also suck at writing summaries!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Did They Find a Cat?

“Miss?”

Ronnie was hearing things. Everything was fuzzy, both in sound and in sight, and she didn’t think she knew where she was.

“She’s finally coming to”, said the unknown, unfamiliar voice from before. “Do you wish to talk to her, Commander? I’m not sure I know if she’s… safe”.

Ronnie blinked and the room became a little less fuzzy. She still needed her glasses, though. A handsome, blonde man, a scar slashing his lip, approached her.

“You are safe here, miss. Wherever you may be from, the Inquisition does not mean to harm you. I am Commander Cullen”. He breathed, possibly new to the situation himself. “I’m going to need your name”.

She blinked again. “I… my name is Ronnie. Where am I?”. She tried to sit up, but was held back. They must have restrained her while she was unconscious. “What happened?”.

“You are at Skyhold… Ronnie”, replied Cullen. “This is the operating base of the Inquisition. You were found near one of the still-open fade rifts. According to the report, your clothes were all badly damaged – except for your boots – and you were found unconscious. It has been about four days since you were found.”

The young woman was breathing slowly, controlling the air flowing in and out of her lungs, trying to keep back the inevitable panic attack.

The commander continued. “Do you know anything about what might have happened to you?”

She shook her head. “I do have one question… if that’s alright. By any chance… when I was found… was there a cat with me? Black, big, really high-pitched meows?”. It was her last chance in finding some sense of calm in the situation.

“I’m sorry”, Cullen answered, not without empathy. “Only you were there. Our scouts searched the area for any clues, and would have noticed a black cat in the desert”.

The commander ordered someone to bring Ronnie some water, and questioned her some more, but she was barely there. From the depths of her sheer panic, she hardly even noticed herself discussing what had happened to her, and where she was from. She flew mostly unaware through questions about demons and the fade, and about who she might be aligned with. It didn’t matter. All she could tell the commander was that she didn’t remember anything, that she had never cared for spirits or demons, and that she had no connections to anyone. When asked about her home, Cullen remained confused; he had never heard of a “Haifa” before. Ronnie couldn’t show him her home on the map of Thedas, either.

She was questioned – interrogated – by others, too. Neither party gained much out of it. As far as they could tell, she was nobody, with no title nor battlefield experience, and very minor knowledge of the happenings of the past decade. She didn’t know who currently ruled Ferelden, although she did somehow know that it was no longer Cailan Theirin. She seemed to know about some of the major crises of the past years, but not how they were resolved. Ronnie still learned nothing of what had happened to her, and remained in the dark about her current position.

Eventually, they seemed to run out of questions. When her restraints were undone – by a Templar, no less – she was given a bowl of soup and a small chunk of bread, and advised to eat slowly. She was to be closely monitored by a healer for the next couple of days, and then sent to the archanist for tests. She might have gone through the fade somehow, and needed to be examined.

The first moment she was alone, Ronnie immediately felt for her ears. When they were small and round, just as they had always been, she felt a sting of disappointment. She had hoped that somehow, through the fade, her body might have changed to reflect the connection she felt to the elven people. Whatever brought her to Thedas obviously did not accomplish that.

The following days were a time of healing. Her bruises were tended to, her aches and pains lifted. She was given poultices and balms, and even her eyesight was treated. Even the pains she had grown used to long before her arrival on Thedosian ground were finally manageable.

When she eventually met the archanist, a cheerful dwarf by the name of Dagna, the examinations began. As she was prodded, swabbed, pricked and measured, Ronnie felt comfortable enough to tell Dagna of the marvels of her home world. Dagna listened in interest, if not disbelief, as her test subject described incredible technology, allowing for “tablets that emit light and can change their display, so you can store and read thousands of books on them”, “thinking machines as small as your palm that you can use to talk to other people” and “enormous metal ships with wings, that you can use to travel through the skies across a continent or even to another continent altogether”.

As testing progressed, Ronnie learned that she was a mage. Untrained as she was, she had no idea what to do with her magic, but was assured by those in charge of her that she would begin training shortly. Dagna said that they probably preferred to control the development of their new apprentice’s powers than to have an untrained mage around Skyhold, even under guard. They were also probably getting tired of guarding her.

Dagna theorized that Ronnie had not, in fact, been through the fade. The reports told of no demons near the rift, that was mysteriously closed overnight without the Inquisitor’s help. These two irregularities hinted at something different than the “fade rifts” the Inquisition was used to.

At the end, Dagna must have concluded that whatever magic brought Ronnie to Thedas was not of her doing, and that she was no more dangerous than any other untrained mage apprentice. The new Skyhold resident was moved to the Hold’s circle tower, and given a mentor to be trained by.

By day, Ronnie was a busy mage’s apprentice, learning how to control her magical talents and devouring information about Thedas in the library. At night, when she tried to rest her mind and her body, she was an alien, stranded on foreign land without her friends and without her cat.


	2. A Mage’s Forte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting settled in and finding a study-buddy. Also drinking.

Life in Skyhold developed a regular pace for Ronnie, as she slowly searched for her place in it. She had her training, a new friend, and a growing interest in her new world’s lore, that she happily indulged daily in the library, taking a special interest in Tevinter, Elven history and the place mages had in Thedosian society. She was even given a stipend, which she usually traded for lunches, and she was given a pen, some paper and ink for notes on her training; the young mage felt need for little more until she could afford a new outfit.  
She also used the writing equipment to keep a diary, which she kept on her person at all times. She knew her room was regularly searched, and did not want to have to explain notes in mirror-writing (which was more comfortable for her as a left-hander) that include “code words” like “internet”, “facebook” and “tumblr”. It was her one connection to the home she lost, and she wasn’t ready to lose it a second time.   
Once every so often Ronnie would see commander Cullen, either walking from point A to Be, talking about something too important for her to know about or enjoying a game of hexagonal chess in the garden. She would stare at his handsome features for a moment or two, and then turn completely red when she remembered one wasn’t supposed to stare, and pretend she was urgently needed elsewhere.  
During one of her reading sessions in the library, the young apprentice was approached by a ridiculously good-looking mage, adorning the most tasteful moustache she had ever seen, by the name of Dorian Pavus. He wanted to know when she would be done with the book she was reading – something to do with the rise of the Tevinter Magisterium to renewed power in the days of the chantry – and they struck a most interesting conversation. He apparently shared her interest in Tevinter, wanting to make it a better place, and so they started exchanging reading material and having borderline argumentative (though somehow self-indulging) discussions on the ways to make Thedas a safer, more inclusive world for all.   
On one exceptionally good day, Ronnie and her new study-buddy got into a “discussion” so heated they were kicked out of the library on the grounds of “if you’re going to be screaming at each other you can do that in a tavern, not in a place of learning!”. They decided to do exactly that, taking their fight to Herald’s Rest. Soon, they found themselves sidetracked, laughing about the absurdities of their world.   
“And I mean, so the humans depersonalize elves, and the elves do so to humans… but the dwarves in Orzammar only live with other dwarves, right?”. Ronnie took another sip from her drink. “So they make a whole caste system so they can depersonalize other dwarves. It’s like people are even more driven by their will to hate than by actual hate”.   
Dorian looked sadly into his bucket, no longer laughing, and his comrade sighed deeply. “Do you think”, she asked quietly, “that we – or anyone – really stands a chance at helping make this world a better place? Are we even worthy of discussing it? Wh –“.   
“Oh, hush”, Dorian interrupted. “You’ll ruin drinking for me if you go on”.   
Ronnie apologized, embarrassed.   
“No matter”, said Dorian. “Have you, perchance, got anything a tad lighter to talk about?”.  
“Well…”, the young woman hesitated, “maybe not when we’re drunk, but… could you teach me to play chess? I’ve seen you play, in the garden.”  
“Well”, the mage laughed. “Not that I do not play magnificent chess, Ronnie, but I’m afraid teaching has never quite been my forte. If you’re really interested in learning, you might want to ask our Commander Cu –“  
As Ronnie’s eyes slowly lowered to the table, her hair conveniently hiding them, her friend raised an eyebrow, smiling. Less drunk, he would probably be more of a smart-arse about it, but his thought must have already been slowed.  
“Well, I suppose when you say you’ve seen me play, you mean to say that you’ve seen me play against Cullen?”  
Ronnie raised her bucket, gulping her drink loudly. It was easier than having to figure out the best response.  
“Could it be…”, smiled the mage across the table, sipping lightly from his own drink – oh, maybe his fifth that night – “that you’ve developed a liking for our commander?”  
When she didn’t answer even through his next sip, he added – the words coming out with difficulty – “well, I have to warn you, he’s very much a stick-in-the-mud”.   
Ronnie’s face was now practically hidden behind her bucket. Whatever she mumbled to herself back there was incomprehensible, especially to the drunken mage across from her.  
“Everything is rubbish anyway. Can’t even see straight… Ask me when there’s only one of y –”, he started, his head falling on his conveniently-placed arms on the table with a soft thud.   
Not willing to risk a drunken trip back to her lodging, Ronnie imitated the act, going to sleep on the table.  
When she woke up, her cheek on the stained wood table, Ronnie looked up and saw a very large man. He was incredibly tall, his muscly chest bare, and on his head featured two dragon-like horns. He was gently picking Dorian up from his chair, apparently doing his best not to wake the sleeping mage.   
Holding Dorian in his arms, he turned to look at the sleepy apprentice. “You know”, he said quietly, “you’re gonna have a bitch of a hangover if you don’t get yourself into a proper bed. You gonna make it to your place okay on your own?”  
Ronnie blinked hard. She blinked again, finally regaining her communication skills. “No, uh… Yeah, I’ll be fine”. She carefully stood up, a bit wobbly. Her leg hurt, but her intoxicated brain only partly registered the pain. She found her balance and took a deep breath. “Yeah, no worries”.  
“Right”, said the Qunari holding Dorian. “Good luck”.   
With that, he pivoted and walked out of the tavern, leaving Ronnie to slowly gather herself. She stepped outside, convincing herself that she was sure she knew her way back to the mages’ tower. The cool air cleared her mind, and she may have even taken pleasure in her short journey, Skyhold as quiet and as sleepy as she herself was. When she finally reached her room, she thought that for the first time in what seemed like almost forever, she actually felt alright.  


	3. Fade Boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronnie gets an unpleasant reminder that even when things are manageable she is still a "spoonie".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've already read this pre-29/08/2016, note that I've added some at the end of the chapter. (It was going to be part of the next chapter, but for pace reasons and such I decided to put it here).

Although she overslept a little, Ronnie somehow managed through her light hangover the next morning, grabbed a bite at breakfast, and was only a few minutes late for training.

A rough start, for sure, and her lessons that day did not go as smoothly as usual. They never would go too smoothly, to say the truth, as her mentor was a militant sort, convinced that the most Ronnie, as all Inquisition mages, could contribute to the Inquisition was in battle. A grey-haired elf, she would almost seem pleasant until she started talking. Her voice was rough, probably a result of years of yelling at her apprentices at the Circle, and her views even more so. In her short time in Skyhold, Ronnie learned it best not to ask her mentor for lessons that were more academically focused, or even for any kind of healing magic not applicable to battlefield wounds. On a good day, she might at least get a lead from her mentor on where to look to learn what interested her.

Today, however, was not a good day, and the strict enchanter worked her hard without much room for conversation. Regrettably, magic needed concentration, and so Ronnie couldn’t afford to space-out and fantasize about her former life, as she would be immediately pulled back to reality if that happened, and made to work twice as hard.

Fortunately, time was still running, and finally it was lunchtime, and training was done for the day. When the young apprentice turned to gather her equipment and finally leave, she cried out in pain and surprise. Her mentor looked at her worryingly.

“No, it’s nothing”, Ronnie said, shaking her head. “I just stepped wrong”.

The middle-aged enchanter apparently bought that, shrugging and getting back to her daily activities.

Ronnie turned to the tavern, limping carefully and cursing at her leg. If she had not worked so hard, her regular treatment would, as usual, be enough to keep the pain at bay, almost like it wasn’t there. When she exhausted herself, however, her body would protest, taking up even mental and emotional capacity with the pain in her thigh.

She reached the tavern and sat at the nearest vacant table, rubbing her thigh angrily in hopes that the warmth from friction could provide some relief.

“You alright?” said a deep voice.

Ronnie looked up to see the large qunari from the previous night, half-leaning on her table.

“Yeah, thanks”, she replied, gently squeezing her thigh under the table. It hurt more that way, but it still helped. “I probably just overdid things in training today”.

“Overdid the leg?”

“Oh”. She hesitated. That did sound odd, what with her wearing apprentice’s attire and magic being a stationary activity. “Old injury. I was run over by a… really heavy wagon. I don’t like to talk about it. Gets worse when I’m tired”.

The horned man nodded sympathetically. “I’m the Iron Bull, by the way”, he said after a short silence. “We, uh, met last night”.

“Yeah, I remember”, Ronnie said, her attention still mostly on her leg. “Thanks for that, by the way. Was definitely better for me to sleep in a bed”.

“Sure”. He seemed a little hesitant, but just for a short moment. “So, where’re you from? You the one they found naked in the desert?”.

Ronnie frowned. Maybe Dorian had mentioned to him how strange her knowledge of Thedas was. “I was wearing shoes. And… whatever was left of my clothes, I guess. Not that I remember”.

“Shoes?”

She nodded, lifting one foot to show him her trusty boots, the one thing she had left from before Skyhold, and what probably saved her feet from deformation when that van ran her over. “Durable.”

He whistled, obviously impressed. “So, ‘fade boots’, huh”.

Ronnie snorted, her brow furrowed. “I don’t know about that. Like I said, I don’t remember”. She lowered her gaze, pretending to examine the wood patterns of the table.

The Iron Bull finally got the hint and dropped the issue.

“Well”, he said, straightening up. “If you need anything, let me know. Or if you need to, uh, talk, or something”. With that, he left the apprentice alone at her table.

Ronnie sighed, and ordered the smallest dish the tavern would serve her. She didn’t even like beans, but felt that she wouldn’t be able to enjoy anything that day anyway. When she was done, she carried herself back to her room. She was going to write in her journal, take a nap, and maybe cry a little. There was no point in going to the library and trying to be productive.

When she got to her room, she made it through undressing herself only because she couldn’t possibly rest in her uncomfortable clothes. She let them fall on the unclean floor – Ronnie was never good at remembering to clean – and dropped herself on her bed, where she would spend the rest of that day.

Not even making it to supper, Ronnie only wrote a few short paragraphs in her journal before her brain gave in and blocked all ability to form sentences. Frustrated, she doodled, but found that she couldn’t even stand to look at her attempts to make anything remotely resembling art.

It had been a while since her mind felt so blocked. Her creativity was shut off, and she didn’t even feel like she could sing. Tired, lonely, and immensely annoyed at both her leg and mind, the young woman decided to just go to sleep. That it had yet to turn dark mattered only a little; since the pain wasn’t going away, she preferred the bliss of unconsciousness.

The next day was easier for Ronnie. She somehow made it to breakfast, and her mentor – maybe remembering that cry of pain the previous day – was a bit softer on her, which Ronnie didn’t actually notice. Still exhausted, she gritted her teeth through training, and spoke little. That might have been a good time to ask after whatever currently interested her, but she chose not to spend her energy on it that day.

After a light lunch, she found herself absentmindedly dragging her legs towards the library. The way from their training spot was not long, but the young apprentice felt empty still and was walking slowly. Moving her gaze around, looking for something to catch her attention, she suddenly spotted a small, grey, tabby-coated cat resting on a sunny patch of ground, lazily grooming themselves.

“Tiny kitty!”, she whispered to herself in excitement. Her original destination instantly forgotten, she crouched to the ground and held her hand out, slowly moving towards the cat, calling to them.

To her delight, the cat responded to her, sniffing her hand and then rubbing their head against it. She’d made a friend.


	4. Thanks, Dorian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronnie makes a terrible mistake.

After not having shown up in the library for two days in a row, Ronnie started to dread going there. She was anxious about what Dorian would say. Did not being there count as ditching him? What if he were mad at her? She couldn’t bear to find out.

Instead, she found herself spending more time in her room, alone, and occasionally near the kitchens with the cats. The only humanoid interaction she had was with her mentor, and occasionally with people eyeing her strangely, either for being too quiet, or for still not having mastered Thedas’ honorifics, or for meowing at the Skyhold cats. She started buying her food in bulks, to avoid people better, preferring to eat in her room. Sometimes she would see Iron Bull in the tavern when she was ordering, and even though she remembered his offer she couldn’t dare to try to talk to him – or anyone else.

On one of her better days, when her training had gone well and the enchanter actually seemed pleased with her progress (and probably also with the decrease in “unrelated” questions in magic), Ronnie felt well enough to go hang out with the cats again, maybe even say hello to a cook (and try to get a free apple). When she approached the kitchens, a large orange tom greeted her in the yard.

Ronnie meowed at him.

He sat at a good distance from the girl, eyed her carefully and meowed back.

She meowed again.

This went on for a good twenty seconds, until the cat decided he had had enough and started to groom his privates. Ronnie sighed and turned away, trying to decide how else to spend the energies that she had today.

“I’m sorry”, said a voice to her left.

She turned to look, and saw commander Cullen leaning on a wall, not ten paces from her. With her gaze usually turned to the ground, she’d managed to miss him.

“I’m sorry, but I have to ask. What… was that?”

“The cat?” Ronnie asked, confused. Then it sunk in. “Oh. I was trying to talk him into letting me pet him. Not today though.”

The commander’s eyebrows furrowed. “Talk?”

Ronnie felt the blood flush her face, all the way up to her ears. “That’s… just a figure of speech… I guess I just meow and hope they understand…”, her voice trailed off as her eyes looked for something lower than the ground to lock on.

“Right. Of course”. Cullen coughed.

Ronnie knew that he knew she was found by that rift, and in a way it made sense that maybe the Inquisition didn’t know that she couldn’t talk to animals any more than any Thedosian could, but she felt embarrassed by the notion. Anxious, too. Was she seen as that much of a freak?

“I apologize if tha- “, she heard him start, but she was already thinking of saying something, and didn’t register his talking before she opened her own mouth.

“Could you help me practice my chess?” was what she blurted out. Gee, thanks, Dorian.

He must have been caught so far off guard that he forgot how to refuse. Ronnie saw no other explanation to him replying, “I… well, I honestly can’t see why not”.

Terrified, she decided to delay what she could only see as her social ruin in Skyhold, and maybe all of Thedas.

“Tomorrow? After lunch?”.

Cullen seemed about as bewildered as she was. “… right.”

Then he left, probably to reflect on how he got to this lowest point in his life. That’s what Ronnie gathered, anyhow.

Andraste’s knickers, she had to talk to someone.

⁂

 

Dorian never got the chance to be witty about Ronnie’s recent disappearance when he saw her in the library, because _somehow_ she managed to speak before he even said one word. Can’t say he was used to that.

“Dorian”, she said, “I’ve made a terrible mistake”.

Dorian’s humorous manner disappeared. “Just tell me it’s not blood magic”.

“Huh?”. She paused for a moment, completely unsure where that came from. “ **Of course it’s not blood magic** ”. Jesus H, did _everyone_ in Skyhold think she was a monster?

Silent pause. How she hated those.

“Just **listen**. Dorian, I freaking **talked to Cullen**.”

Dorian looked at her in response, his face expressing the slightest possible interest.

Ronnie frowned. It was clear to her that he did not grasp truly how serious the situation was. The only other person she could talk to in freaking Thedas was Dagna, and she probably wouldn’t understand. The Iron Bull did invite her to talk to him, but she just couldn’t. There was only Dorian.

“No, Dorian, I talked to **Cullen**. Look at me. **Look at me** ” ****

Dorian’s eyebrows dipped low, and then rose up again. “You’re concerned about how you look”. His brow furrowed again.

Ronnie tried to remember to breathe. “Listen, I somehow – I panicked, and I asked him about chess **because I’m an idiot** , and we’re meeting tomorrow? – and he already thinks, I don’t know, shit, he **definitely** thinks I’m weird or **something** , and if I can’t look decent by tomorrow after lunch I’ll have to flee Skyhold **and I have nowhere to go and** – “

“Alright, alright. Breathe. Please”.

Ronnie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. She opened her eyes. Exhale.

“Now, dear, I’d love to help you – I think – but you’re going to have to make a little more sense than that.”

She took a good twenty, maybe thirty seconds to think. “I just need my hair done. And a decent outfit". She was still wearing the simplest, most unremarkable things, given to her when she was first brought to Skyhold. "I have some coin – not much, but some – but I just can’t get myself to talk to anyone. Can’t buy anything without talking.”

“Let me just finish this chapter, then”. Dorian seemed much calmer now. “And we’ll get you, as you said, ‘looking decent’”.


	5. Pockets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronnie prepares herself for what may be her social downfall in Thedas. That her social status is practically non-existent has no bearing on this.

“Oooh, how about these? They would go spectacularly with your top – “

“Dorian”.

The Tevinter mage was holding a pair of tasteful shoes, styled but practical, just about waving them in Ronnie’s face. At this point they had already managed, Dorian bartering and Ronnie paying, to get her a few undershirts her size, a reasonable top – corset-like, loose and open at the top – wide short trousers and long tight pants. When she awkwardly added smallclothes to the pile, Dorian continued the barter as if they were… well, not smallclothes. He might decide to tease her on it later, though.

Ronnie had been quite accepting – grateful, frankly, for the most part – for her friend’s fashion advice, but whatever he tried he could not convince her to replace her big, black boots. Although she agreed they looked a tad bit awkward with her now more elegant outfit, she would not part with them.

“Oh, are you sure? Maybe buy them **just in case** – “

“I need to be able to afford to eat – and we’ve still my hair to deal with”.

“Fine. Maybe you’ll be more reasonable with a nicer looking head. What do you think?”

“Put the shoes down. Also, I think I have no idea who does hair around here.”

Fortunately, Dorian did have to maintain his own smart hairdo during his time in Skyhold, so he knew just where to take her.

When they were finally done, it was getting dark. The merchants were closing up their shops for the day. Skyhold was quieting down.

“Thanks… For today”, Ronnie said. She had forgotten what it was like to wander around with friends. This was a nice reminder.

“Don’t thank me yet”, Dorian responded, smiling. “Those boots **will** come off. Thank me then”.

Ronnie laughed, but said nothing. Would it help to explain how much it means to her, to have something **on her** from before Thedas… from home? Her friendship with Dorian had been light-hearted until now. She didn’t know if he’d want it otherwise.

“Kadan!” thundered a deep voice in the midst of an awkward silence. “Been looking for you all over”, called the Iron Bull, speed-walking towards them. “Ah, um, fade-girl. Been a while”, he said when he noticed Ronnie.

“Anyway, Kadan, I got you something. Got, uh, **us** something. So I thought – “

“You’ll have to excuse the Bull”, said Dorian, interrupting. “He’s still learning what one does or **does not** discuss in public”.

Wide-eyed, Ronnie struggled to speak. “I’ll just go, I think. Thanks again, Dorian. Bye”.

“See you”, said Iron Bull.

Ronnie had forgotten to address him. Damn social interaction rules. “Uh, yeah”, she muttered, embarrassed, half-hoping he didn't hear that. Was what she said now worse than ignoring him completely? She had no idea.

When she got back to her room, absentmindedly ruffling her own hair – it was now cut short, and was perfect for stimulation to help regulate senses and emotions – she started getting ready for bed. She would eat her supper when she’s ready for sleep, the possibility a convenient side-effect of her recently hoarding food.

Halfway through stripping, she remembered it would be a good idea to move things from the pockets of her old outfit to the new; her mentor – “Enchanter Ma’am”, she called her in her head, still having difficulty remembering her name and addressing her as “ma’am” to avoid embarrassment – would not be happy if her pupil forgot to bring her notes to training.

Her study notes were the least of her pocket-findings, however. She had managed to accumulate quite the collection of written thoughts in her time in the Inquisition, most of them expressed in frustration.

There were also scraps and sketches – bad sketches, as Ronnie was not used to the art equipment in Thedas and was still learning to use it. A cat, mostly, but also a few portraits and angry doodles. One note just had the word “balls” written on it a few dozen times on one side, and a list of “Things in Thedas that Stink” on the flip-side.

Sighing, the young apprentice pushed every useless scrap of paper back into the pockets of her old clothes. The rest, anything with at least minimal value, she straightened and folded as neatly as she could, and placed in her new pouch.

Not really satisfied with anything, she had an apple and went to sleep.

The next morning went by quickly. “Enchanter Ma’am” had to double-take before realizing Ronnie was, well, Ronnie, and spent eight whole minutes going on about what in Ronnie’s new outfit is good for battle and what isn’t.

Ronnie was relieved when lunchtime finally arrived, and started walking towards Herald’s Rest, listing in her head what her plans were for the rest of the day. When she remembered “chess with Cullen”, her anxiety level rose so high she completely lost her appetite. If this were back home she could have just texted – how long it had been since she last used that word _,_ **texted** – him some excuse or other to cancel, and gone about her day with that heavy weight lifted. Not here, though. She groaned, frustrated, and walked to the garden to wait for him there. _And this is how my inexistent social life went down in flames._

When she got to the garden, she sat at the chess table and took some paper out. Knowing she would be waiting for some time, she decided to try to draw a Mabari puppy, illustrations of which she saw in a few books in the library (although she worked hard to ensure Dorian wouldn’t find out about her love for Ferelden children’s books). She was completely focused on her art, and was startled when suddenly her light was blocked. She gasped, looking up to see what happened.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you”, Cullen said, towering in his armor next to her seated person. “I’m looking for – “. He stopped, giving her a long look. He may have even squinted a bit.

“Sorry, yes. Ahem. You wanted me to help you with chess?”.


	6. Check?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chess happens, social skills are needed. Good luck, Ronnie!

The whole thing somehow turned out less disastrous than Ronnie had expected. At first they focused on actually learning – the pieces looked different from what Ronnie was used to back home, and the bishop was a “mage” here, but she knew the basic rules – and avoided the “talking” part of socializing.

When they were playing and had been silent for at least two minutes, Cullen asked how Ronnie was doing in Skyhold. That slowed down the first moves in their game significantly.

“I think I’m mostly okay”, she answered, unsure. “I do wish I could study magic in a less ‘battly’ context, though.”

“In what way?”

“Encha- uh, my mentor is very adamant that I prepare for the battlefield…” she took a deep breath, staring at the chess pieces on the board, “but I don’t like fighting, and don’t find battle interesting”.

“What would you prefer to do? It’s your turn, by the way”, he added, not impatiently.

Ronnie squinted at the board, as if that would help her think. She still couldn’t understand or build strategy, but knew that a purely reactive gameplay is how you lose. This is exactly why she needed help. Going for “I’ll do the thing with the thing and attack the thing from the thing if he doesn’t get in the way too much”, she continued their conversation.

“I would like to study. To research… to develop.”

Cullen made his move, and looked at Ronnie thoughtfully. “Does Enchanter Kathryn know of these concerns?”

Ronnie was confused. “Enchanter Kathryn?”.

Cullen gave her a strange look. “Your mentor. Her reports say that you have been training regularly – “

_Wait, shit, what?_

Ronnie didn’t consider the possibility that Cullen would have been reading about her. _Everything is weird now, isn’t it?_

She found herself mumbling, explaining that at first everything was new and very little information made it through the veil of anxiety in her mind and stuck, and that afterwards she was just too afraid to ask.

“How have you been addressing her all this time?”, Cullen asked, bemused.

“I just call her ‘ma’am’. She seems to like it.”

“She would, yes”, Cullen laughed. Apparently she used to be a charge of his, way back during his time in the Ferelden circle. “She would demand the appropriate respect for her title, especially from human apprentices. Many were afraid of her. But she was a good teacher”, he said.

“Did everyone in the circle have to learn to fight?”. She had so very little knowledge on circle culture, and she was a mage, and Divine Victoria had just been appointed – so she wanted to know what to expect if circles were reinstated, even if the Divine claimed that they would not be.

“Only to some extent, but… yes”. Cullen looked down at their game, making another move.

Ronnie sighed, examining their board. _Blocked here, and here – but what if I go for his bishop, I mean mage? That would get in the way of his rook there, and maybe open up a –_

“Commander”, said a voice, interrupting her thought. It was one of Cullen’s people. “I was to inform you that the Inquisitor is back in Skyhold. Lady Josephine asks for your attendance at dinner”.

Cullen sighed. “You can tell her I’ll be there”. He shook his head as the messenger left the garden. “I hope there’s no one visiting this time”, he murmured. It was unclear whether he was aware that he was talking. He then grew quiet for a few moments, until Ronnie made her move.

“Check?” she said, afraid to interrupt some deep thought.

The commander seemed startled for a short moment. “What…” he said, confused, then regained his calm. “Right. My turn, then”.

They finished the game in silence, only interrupted by the occasional “check” and eventually Cullen’s “checkmate”. A hint of a smile showed on his lips as he examined his conquered board.

“That wasn’t too bad”, he said, looking at Ronnie. “Although you do definitely need practice”.

Ronnie couldn’t help but smile. Her chest hurt – she was anxious, and losing made her anxiety worse – but she felt good at Cullen’s words. “Could we, maybe… could we do this again?”.

Cullen smiled, his hand now on the back of his neck. “I… yes. Alright, yes. I will –” he stopped for a second, “With the Inquisitor back, I will have more work. I could, well, let you know, I suppose, when I’ve time”. His gaze found its way from Ronnie’s face to the ground as he spoke.

Ronnie took a deep breath. This wasn’t a “no”, was it?

“Sure… of course”. She stood up, straightening her trousers. Her mouth was dry. She had probably socialized enough for the **week**. “I… goodbye then?”.

“Right. Later, then”.

When Ronnie left the garden, realizing too late that she had left Cullen to tidy up on his own after their game, she didn’t feel like going back to her room. Instead, she made her way to the library.

“Ah, there you are!” exclaimed Dorian when she walked past him. “I would love to hear about your –” he started.

“Tomorrow?” Ronnie interrupted.

Dorian almost sounded offended. “Right. Tomorrow, then. You’d better not be keeping anything too scandalous from me!”, he smiled.

Ronnie found a cozy corner in the library, between two bookshelves. She located another Ferelden book, and took out her art supplies. She would finish that puppy today.


	7. Runner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronnie sets to gamble on her social standing in Skyhold.  
> If she loses her pants, she's taking Dorian's.

“So you had a nice time?”, Dorian asked when Ronnie was done telling him of her frankly uninteresting time with Cullen. Absent-mindedly turning another page in the book he was reading, he seemed like he’d expected more.

“Sure”, Ronnie mumbled, shuffling through the papers in her pouch for the right notes. Something about all the different healing properties of elfroot. “But what’s important is that I find how to ask Enchanter, uh, damn it, didn’t I just tell you her name? – “

“Kathryn”, Dorian said helpfully, “and you should probably remember it if you want her help”.

“– thanks, yeah. How do I ask Enchanter _Kathryn_ to help me find something interesting to do?”.

Cullen forgotten, they spent the afternoon looking for “a good angle”, while Ronnie was completing her herbalism reading.

“You see? I could probably enjoy even this if I didn’t know she only wants me to learn what’s practical for the battlefield. But she’s not even interested in me reading anything by Ines Arancia, said it was a waste of time”.

“I’m afraid this might be out of your hands, my dear. You’re her apprentice and she seems intent on believing you are always wrong or misinformed”.

“What am I supposed to do, then? She’s teaching me no skills but for battle, which is exactly where I don’t want to be.”

Doian sighed. “Go **around** her, my dear. You said something about herbalism? Go chat up Elan in the gardens. You’ll do fine if you pursue your interests.”

“Mmm”. Ronnie saw his point, even as she dreaded interpersonal interaction. “Can I do that without actually talking to people?”

“What is it that scares you so much about people?” Dorian asked, bemused. “You seem to be doing quite alright, here”.

“Oh, I’m _terrified_ of interacting even with you. But we share interest, and sometimes a sense of humor. And you don’t _mind_ if I make mistakes… right?”

“Not at all”, he laughed. “Makes for a refreshing change from most others; people lose themselves so deep in etiquette that they seem to forget to say anything of substance”. He sat up straighter, readjusting in his chair. “Come now, let’s do something more fun. The Inquisitor hardly has me running around the countryside these days, and I find myself lacking excitement. How about you join me and some friends for a game of Wicked Grace?”

Ronnie narrowed her eyes, tilting her head with confusion. “Doesn’t that cost money? I don’t think I can afford – “

“Nonsense; we’ll figure it out.”

She sighed, knowing she had nothing better planned for the evening. She also knew she could use a few more acquaintances. “Oh, alright. But if I lose my pants, I’m taking yours”.

When they got to Herald’s Rest they found the Iron Bull there, waiting for them.

“Varric’s gonna join us soon”, he told them as they pondered over which drink to take. Dorian went with Antivan wine, claiming it was the only decent drink the tavern served. Ronnie decided to just have water, until she’s comfortable enough to drink something alcoholic – or too uncomfortable not to.

“Next time you want me to bring Curly for cards”, said a sudden voice, as a chair next to Ronnie was pulled out, “you either have Ruffles here for the revenge angle, or make up your own –”

At this point Ronnie stopped listening, blankly staring at the newcomer dwarf. His yellow hair and shaved face hinted at who he may be, but the young mage found her gaze drawn downwards, to the dwarf's open overshirt.

"Eyes are up here, Newby", he said. "But I'll give you a few more seconds to admire my chest hair. A courtesy".

Still trying to calculate the correct response, Ronnie remained silent when the Bull interceded.

"You’re this late, and the best you could come up with is 'Newby'? I could've done better".

Dorian laughed.

"After ten minutes of trying and _failing_ to persuade Curly, I assure you, even Sparkles –", the dwarf gestured at the Tevinter Mage, " – would lose his edge". He ordered himself a drink, took out a deck of cards and finally introduced himself. "Varric Tethras, at your service. And here to take your money, as it happens".

"Bluffing already?" Dorian snickered. "The cards aren't even dealt yet".

"So, what's your story?" Varric turned to Ronnie again.

"He'd ask for your name", laughed the Iron Bull, "but he really avoids using them".

Ronnie breathed deeply through her nose. She'd socialized before. She knew how to do this.

"Name’s Ronnie. I'm a mage – apprentice? Learning. Studying. Only here tonight to watch, I can't really afford to play any of you, but, uh..." Her voice trailed off, uncertain.

"We'll figure something out. Maybe you can deal for us", Varric smiled. “I can wait a bit before cheating someone out of their clothes, although I can’t vouch for Tiny here”, he gestured lightly at the Bull.

“Hey”, the Qunari protested, “People removing their clothes around me only do it because they _want_ to”.

While she dealt and they played, getting progressively drunk, they seemed to enjoy questioning her about herself. Even Dorian joined in, although he already knew more about her than possibly anyone else in Skyhold.

"So what do you think about this new Bright Hand business? The mages remaining with the Inquisition?" Varric asked as Ronnie limped back to their table after taking a short breather outside.

Ronnie snickered. "You're the first to ask me what _I_ thought. But I think it's best. I mean, the whole Redcliffe thing - " the Iron Bull made a displeased grunt at the mere mention of the event - "it showed that we – them? The mages... really needed some oversight. So I'm glad we're still here, with leaders who probably know what they’re doing”.

“I don't know how to tell you this, Runner, but I’m not sure even Nightingale actually knows what’s going on”.

“Maybe she does”, Dorian suggested, “she’s just keeping it secret”.

Iron Bull shrugged. “Now that she’s divine, that’s exactly what she _should_ do”.

“Oh shit, that’s right! Maker”, Varric exclaimed, “she’s come a long way since the first time I met her. You see, one day Hawke came home to find this letter waiting –” and his words wandered back years, taking his listeners on a journey.


	8. Fireball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As enchanter Kathryn's demands in training exceed Ronnie's abilities, the young mage is finally given a different way to be a mage.

The sun was making its way lower at the west, slowly dimming its light on the sparring circle in the Skyhold yard. Enchanter Kathryn of the Bright Hand did not seem to give a nug’s bald ass about how late it was getting, and her apprentice was slowly losing her social boundaries, too exhausted to remember the existence of a hierarchy.

“I can’t – look, it’s been hours, even if I could do it before I can’t concen –”

“You need to learn how to – don’t interrupt”, the annoyed, middle-aged elf snapped when Ronnie once again tried to protest. “You can make fireballs in your hands. All you need to do is _throw_ one, as I’ve told you countless times today, and you’ll be **free to go** ”. Her voice became progressively louder as the fireballs in her apprentice’s hand ignited and distinguished, one after the other.

She didn’t _understand_. Ronnie was afraid of fire; yes, she could make a rather large fire in her hands almost comfortably, but _throwing_ it meant releasing control of it. She could tolerate a fire she could control, but when she tried to release it, she would fail – over and over again.

This went on for several excruciating minutes longer, until a messenger came looking for the irritable enchanter, finally freeing her fatigued apprentice to limp into the tavern. After making her way slowly to the nearest available chair, Ronnie collapsed on it. She rested her arms on the stained table, buried her face in them, and cried.

She had had a few peaceful days following her night dealing for Dorian and the others, but they didn’t feel like enough to make up for today. She was angry at her mentor, of course, but there was more than that – more even than her immense exhaustion: she was disappointed at herself and her abilities.

 _What mage can’t throw a fireball?_ She thought to herself in desperation. “Useless”, she muttered; saying it out loud was more real, like a whip’s crack on her back. “I’m useless”.

“You don’t have to throw a fireball to be useful”, said a sudden voice near her. It was a gentle voice, and she lifted her tear-stained face to see whom it belonged to. A young man stood leaning on her table, his eyes masked by both long blond hair and a wide hat.

“What use am I?” she mumbled in response.

“You still make a difference. You talk about injustices you see and help others help. You don’t have to be useful to do good. And if you want to be useful, you’ll find a way.”

Ronnie wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks. He was making sense, and that was helpful. “Thank you”, she whispered to him.

He nodded at her, acknowledging her thanks, and walked away.

Later, in her room, Ronnie would remember that she had heard about a cryptic young man in Skyhold who would walk around helping people feel better. Most times, those he helped did not know his name, but she thought she had heard it once or twice. She couldn’t remember what it was, as she was terrible with names, but was glad to have met him and been helped by him. To her, it was a sign that maybe her displacement in Skyhold was not the end of her world.

A second sign came the next morning, with a loud knock on her door when she slept in.

“A message for you”, said a voice through the door as Ronnie hurriedly got up, flattening her hair with her hand, and went to open the door.

“I’m so –” she started, only to be interrupted by the messenger, who seemed eager to deliver his words and go on his way.

“You’re to be at the undercroft this morning. Further instruction will be delivered there.”

“The undercroft –” she repeated, wanting to be sure she got it right, and the messenger was gone.

“Right”, she said to herself, closing the door. “Let’s get dressed and see what this is about”.

In the undercroft, to her delight, Ronnie found Dagna, smiling ear-to-ear.

“I’m excited”, the dwarf said. “I’m excited about this, are you excited? I’ve never quite taught before – I’ve lectured, but that’s not the same –”

Ronnie was taking a little longer to process the situation.

“Taught?”

“Yes! You’re an apprentice, so you need a teacher. And you have a teacher. Or had. But now they want me to be your teacher! Part time.”

“Wait, Dagna, I – they only told me to come here; I don’t actually know what’s going on”.

“Oh! Well, here’s what they told me”, she said, quickly adapting to the new information. “You want to study. To research. Not just fight –”

“No fighting at all”, Ronnie corrected her quickly, forgetting her place, as usual.

“So you’re going to be taught **how** to study. And part of it is going to be here.”

“Am I not going to see Enchanter, uh, Enchanter Kathryn again?” Ronnie asked cautiously.

“No, she’ll still teach you, just… less”.

They spent the rest of the morning going through the different areas that they would cover together, and what the purpose of Ronnie’s time in the undercroft was. There was a lot to be discussed and the noise was sometimes almost too much, but the Arcanist’s bubbly personality kept the young mage attentive and eager to learn.

Ronnie thought to go back to the undercroft after lunch, but realized halfway that she didn’t want to seem _too_ eager. She wasn’t sure why that would be a problem, but didn’t want to take any chances; she could _not_ go back to fireball-throwing practice.

Instead, she wandered up to her room, where she found a helpful note listing where she would be learning the next day, and a pile of dirty underwear near her bed. Remembering that she had left her clothes on the floor when she hurried to get out in the morning, Ronnie felt the blood rushing to her face as she realized whoever left the note must have seen her mess. She quickly threw the pile into her small hamper, and hurried to get it to the laundry room, intent on dealing with it that instance.

By dinnertime, as she walked back to her room, the young mage felt drained but productive. Maybe things were finally turning around.


	9. Chewy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More spoonie things - you can burn out even from doing fun stuff, and Ronnie definitely learns that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long. As I myself am Ronnie, and you may have noticed, I have chronic pain (and PTSD), and sometimes things get too overwhelming to be able to write.  
> The next chapter is already in the works, and Ronnie's relationships, friendships and training in Thedas are actually progressing; I hope it is noticeable in my writing, that the young, lost mage is no longer as alone as she was at the beginning :)

Ronnie’s week was busier than she had imagined possible. With Dagna and Enchanter Ellendra teaching her in addition to Enchanter Kathryn, she finally found balance within her magic.

“Maybe Dalish from Bull’s Chargers can join in on the fun”, Dorian suggested one afternoon, as Ronnie frantically went through her papers, trying to file the lesson notes neatly by teacher. “You could do with some elven magic, I imagine. As long as you don’t call it magic while Dalish is there, that is”.

Ronnie was only half-listening. Ellendra was teaching her about meditations and the fade, and though she felt that she understood the lessons, the young apprentice now scrambled to make sense of her notes.

“Dorian, how is it, again, that fade-stuff becomes a spirit? I still can’t understand the distinction between wisps and just plain energy, even though they’re supposed to sort of be spirits –”

“My dear, I’m no teacher. And I’m afraid you missed our expert on spirits when you arrived; if Solas ever comes back, I imagine he’d be delighted to tell you all about them”.

Ronnie let out a displeased grunt.

“But I _can_ help you find the right books about it, if you give me a moment”.

Ronnie returned to her room late that evening. Her reading enthralled her, and she was fascinated to finally be learning about the physics of her new home. Her magic seemed less a burden now, and more a gift, as it allowed her a real connection with parts of Thedas that were hidden from many.

The next morning was as hopeful as the previous night. Ronnie jumped out of bed, enthusiastic and ready to face new learning and information. It was another day of training with Enchanter Ellendra – her favorite kinds of training – and Ronnie could hardly contain her excitement. That was suboptimal for meditation, and when she was told that today she would contact a spirit – just a wisp, really – Ronnie felt like she could explode.

“I see you are –”

“Hyped!” Ronnie interrupted.

“Right”, the Enchanter sighed. “Tell me about the fade. Can you explain – calmly, Ronnie – what a spirit is?”.

They went over some of the theoretical material together, Ronnie gradually calming down, until they were ready.

“Close your eyes. We’ve practiced meditation, but I will guide you through it nonetheless. Your focus must be on the veil around you.”

Ronnie closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

When it was over, Ronnie was overjoyed. Exhausted, but overjoyed.

“Well done. You are **not** to do this without my – or Enchanter Kathryn’s – supervision, however. You understand that, I hope.”

Ronnie nodded, practically jumping up and down, her hands flapping. “Just practice the meditations.”

“And **rest**. The Inquisition has invested a lot in you, and it would do poorly to have you die from exhaustion.”

At the sound of that word, the apprentice felt her enthusiastic energy fade away. Her head was suddenly throbbing in protest for all that she had exerted, and her legs carried her reluctantly, clearly aching for her bed. Yawning, she started gathering her things. Almost too fatigued to admire the murals in the room her teacher chose for their training, she turned to leave, her mind firmly set on the bed in her room.

“Before you go”, Enchanter Ellendra stopped her waddling pupil, handing her a piece of paper, “I was given a note for you during the exercise; it’s from the commander, apparently”.

Ronnie took it, only half registering what had been said. Forgetting to thank her teacher, she tiredly limped away. It was only when she got to her room that she remembered to read the note she was given: Cullen’s work was apparently less hectic again, and he wanted to know if she wanted to meet the following afternoon, for chess. _Fabulous, she thought; how am I supposed to answer this? Thedas needs an Instant Messaging system._ Not that she wasn’t glad to be asked; it was good to have something other than her training to think of.

When Ronnie next opened her eyes, the room was pitch dark. Realizing that she had fallen asleep and missed two meals, she disgruntledly got up. Slowly, eyes only half-open, she managed to make her way to the tavern. Only when she got there did she realize she’d forgotten to take with her some coin.

“Ronnie!”, she heard a familiar voice call, “I haven’t seen you today. Come, join us!”.

Barely holding back her yawn, she looked around. Dorian was gesturing towards her with his beer, Varric and Bull beside him. There were playing cards on the table, but also food. _Why not_ , the hungry mage thought to herself, reminiscent of her much younger days, fresh out of her parents’ home; _maybe I can get a snack out of it. Also, company, I guess._

“So”, Dorian leaned towards her when she’d finally sat down, “how was your lesson today? Spare no detail”. He seemed eager for conversation.

“Hey now, Sparkles, no serious talk during Wicked Grace; find something else to stall with”.

“Can I have some of that?” Ronnie blurted suddenly. There were meaty-looking snacks on Bull’s plate, and the smell robbed her of every last ounce of social conduct. She needed to eat.

“Uh… sure, yeah”, the horned giant replied, his brows furrowed.

Quickly, before she could regret it, she grabbed a piece. It was greasy, and she usually hated that feeling on her fingers, but she was too hungry to care.

“The Inquisition not feed you, Runner?” asked Varric, placing a bet.

Not knowing how to answer that, Ronnie was glad her mouth was still full. A minute passed, and when she finally swallowed all she could say was “huh, chewy”. Brows were raised, but the game went on, and she kept snagging meat off Bull’s plate every few minutes.

The hungry apprentice ended up eating enough to quiet her stomach, trying her best to contribute to the conversation here and there; she wanted to be civilized towards the people feeding her. She stayed on even afterwards, not wanting to appear rude by leaving the table. Eventually they’d had enough – rather, Dorian had lost enough – and decided to call it a night. Less wobbly now that she’d eaten, Ronnie went back to her room and to bed.

The rest of the night was filled with restless sleep. Dreams of what used to be her home, of pain and demons. When she woke up covered in sweat, hour after hour, she knew her nightmares didn’t make sense; in her dreams, however, everything was all too real. Her life back home mixed with Thedas, truth and stories intertwined: demons going in and out of her computer, flying in space, mocking her; Slytherin house accused of blood magic, and her father punishing her for it; wandering the city, covered in blood, told by strangers that she killed the last of the elves.

Ronnie awoke again come sunrise. Shaking her heavy head and groaning, she sat up. Not wanting to fall asleep again, she reached for her pen and papers, to write; maybe she could get this nonsense out of her system enough to not dream it again tonight.


	10. Literature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronnie gets up early. Ronnie should have known better.

Having woken up hours before usual, Ronnie made it to breakfast that morning. It was too early to go to the undercroft, so she wandered about the grounds, using the occasional wall in her path for extra support and balance.

Skyhold was mostly quiet, with only a few swords clashing against each other in the hands of the Inquisition's most dedicated soldiers, doing their morning drills.

Ronnie’s legs stopped moving. Cullen was probably practicing, too. It was morning – early morning – and she couldn't trust her brain to get the right words all the way through her mouth. It would be safer in the undercroft.

The warmth of the undercroft was welcome, even with the cold breeze coming in. To Ronnie's surprise, Dagna was already there, sitting in the arms of a blonde elven woman. As she walked in they noticed her, and Dagna gave a small, surprised jump.

"You're… early", she said, still holding the elf's hand.

"So, that's you're… apprentice person, yeah?" Said the blonde elf. Her eyes narrowed as she examined Ronnie. "Right", she added, "I'm going to go get started with – with whatever". Quickly, running and jumping, she disappeared through the door, Ronnie staring after her, confused.

Dagna might have noticed. "Oh, don't take it personally. Sera is… weird about magic sometimes, and you're an apprentice mage".

"I apologize for interrupting you – " Ronnie started, probably too late anyway, but was immediately hushed by her teacher.

"Don't worry about it. Let’s try to stick to schedule next time, though. I don't think I have everything ready yet."

Ronnie doodled aimlessly in the meantime, trying to occupy herself as Dagna busied around the place, moving and adjusting equipment.

"Excuse me", said a sudden voice at the door. "Commander Cullen sends you these papers back, my lady. He said they were very helpful".

Dagna walked straight up to the messenger, smiling. "I'm glad he liked it! Let him know I'm almost done with the article we discussed last week".

"Right, thank you".

This messenger was going straight back to Cullen, Ronnie realized, remembering that she still hadn't replied to his invitation for afternoon chess. This was her chance! Now she could let him know that – her thinking was interrupted by the messenger turning towards the door.

"Wait!", Ronnie said, causing the messenger to stop. "Can you tell the commander, about chess today, that – " she started, suddenly remembering that she hadn't yet decided whether or not she was actually up for meeting people that day. Too late, girl, she thought to herself. Just flip a coin. She didn't have a coin. "Just… tell him yes? I think?" she said eventually, her mouth making that decision for her.

The messenger seemed confused, but just politely asked for Ronnie's name, said he would deliver the message, and left.

The lesson didn't go well. A pressing pain behind her eyes, Ronnie couldn't concentrate. As she tried desperately to learn the lyrium patterns that Dagna had laid out in front of her, she slowly felt her composure fading out of existence as master Harritt hit a thing with another thing (she was never able to learn the smithy terms for anything), his new creation slowly taking form. The unnamed tools were loud, and they drowned everything else out. The lyrium’s quiet hum was nowhere to be felt, and even its glow seemed to the frustrated apprentice like it was drowned in metallic-sounding darkness.

A tap on her shoulder startled her, making her gasp loudly. When she turned around she saw her dwarven teacher beside her, and tried to calm her breathing.

“Do you want to take a break?”

“I don’t know”, Ronnie whispered. That was the extent of her verbal ability at that moment.

Dagna sighed, not losing her smile. “Don’t worry about it”, she said, likely noticing Ronnie’s growing despair, “just take the rest of the day off”. Her hand gently guiding Ronnie up from her chair, she added, "let's talk about it next time, alright? See what's going on".

Stumbling out of the undercroft, Ronnie took herself straight to bed. She needed to sleep this headache off.

She soon realized that sleep lay way beyond her reach. Nothing was comfortable. Everything hurt. Tossing and turning, the exhausted mage found herself kicking the blanket off for being too warm, pulling it back on her face for darkness, and throwing it to the other side of the room when the air got too hot on her nose and eyes.

Frustrated, she sat up. Mumbling to herself – it’s always been easier for her to think out loud when her brain was full of pain – she pulled her overclothes back on, tied on her waist bag, and walked out of her room, even as she was unsure where she was going.

She stood at her door for a few long seconds, feeling rather self-conscious and conspicuous. Eventually her brain allowed her to make a decision, and she headed to the library.

It was a good idea: she could sate her boredom if not rest, and perchance even have intelligent conversation. If that didn’t work, the nooks between the bookcases were as good a place as any to roll up into a ball of migraine and despair.

Walking in, she saw Dorian sitting on his armchair cross-legged. She’d forgotten about the armchair. He was reading a book – a Tethras tale – and his expression was a priceless blend of torment and amused disbelief. Upon a closer look, Ronnie recognized the cover of one of the installments of Swords and Shields.

“Wait, you’re actually reading this?”. In her shock, she forgot to greet him.

Dorian chuckled, his eyes still on the pages. “If I finish it in its entirety by tomorrow, Varric will owe me five sovereigns. I think of the wine I’ll buy, as I work through this atrocity”.

“Easy money, huh”, said Ronnie, looking for a place to sit. “Could I get him to bet against me, too?”

This time Dorian raised his eyes from the book to give Ronnie a doubtful look. “First you will have to convincingly display a decent taste in literature”.

“So”, she said thoughtfully, plopping herself on the floor to lean on the chair from its side, “spend time with Varric, pretend to not like trashy content, become rich?”

Dorian laughed, then fell silent. Assuming he’d gone back to reading, Ronnie took one of the many books piled on the floor and started reading. It might have interested her if she understood more of the technical terms in it, but as it was her eyelids grew heavier with each paragraph they scanned, and eventually she dozed off.


	11. Ughhhhhhhh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ronnie does her best to make her afternoon chess date, despite her accumulating buildup of exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. More info in the end notes.
> 
> \---update 25/07/2018---  
> Added a bit at the end of the chapter. It was going to be at the beginning of the next chapter but that wouldn't be right. It goes here.

Ronnie’s rumbling stomach woke her up. “What time is it?”, she mumbled, moving her limbs out of her awkward sitting position on the floor.

“It was a long nap you took”, said Dorian. “But you could probably still call it lunch if you hurry”. It sounded like he was smiling. Through her hunger, Ronnie could only see that as mockery.

Trying her best to think of a comeback, Ronnie found herself just pondering her meal. _Didn’t I have plans for lunch?_

Her vision blurred as her memory became clear. She was late!

She struggled to get up, stumbling upon her own limbs, her body not yet fully awake. Finally standing, she walked straight down to the garden, forgetting to even address Dorian as she passed him. She didn’t even notice whether he said anything to her as she left.

She got to the garden to find Cullen sitting at the chess table. She only glanced at his face, her own face flushed from shame for being late. Cullen’s forehead was smooth, which somehow automatically calmed Ronnie, clearing out the wrinkles on her own forehead.

She walked over to him, forcing herself not to meow but rather to use words. “I’m sorry I’m late”, she mumbled with difficulty, her forehead wrinkling once more.

“It’s alright. I enjoyed the air during my wait.”

They started playing, Cullen’s attempts at conversation failing due to Ronnie’s current difficulty to utter more than one or two words at a time. Even in silence, she found herself getting increasingly tense, unable to concentrate on the game, making more careless mistakes – mistakes she should know better than make – and she knew that defeat was imminent. As her frustration grew, so did her sensitivity. The usually pleasant rustling of leaves now scratched in her mind, the chair – almost comfortable just a few days ago – now painfully hard against her body. Time seemed to be moving more slowly, each moment filled with an abundance of sensory input, overwhelming her brain, leaving no room for strategy. Just barely remembering the basic rules of the game, Ronnie continued moving her pieces every time her turn came. Moving her arm felt robotic and unnatural, almost unreal. Soon she found she had no more power within her to both decide on a chess move and move her hand.

Ronnie knew it was her turn, but she just sat there. Unable to move, her mind was drowned in anxiety. Cullen was waiting for her to make her move, she knew that, and she knew neither how to do that, nor how not to. She lingered in that limbo for what felt like long minutes.

“I… are you alright?”. Cullen’s voice came from what felt like very far away.

Ronnie tried her best to answer but found her mouth nonoperational. Her mind, bending under the pressure of overwhelming sensory input, could not handle social interaction on top of everything else. Instead she felt her eyes fill with tears and her throat swelling. Hoping desperately that nothing – and no one – would force her to open her mouth, she sat still as a statue. If she just didn’t move, and nothing further happened, she could wait it through.

Reality, however, did not play along. Cullen somehow appeared beside her, cautiously crouching to look at her face.

Having a person in her proximity made everything too much. She realized, in the back of her head, that he was just trying to help, but the pressure that had been building up was starting to overflow. Ronnie closed her eye and hummed loudly.

She heard Cullen take a long breath. “I’m going to try to help you, if that’s alright”, he said.

Ronnie nodded through her humming.

“Should we walk to your room, where it’s quieter?”

She nodded again and stopped humming. She needed her concentration to get up from that chair. When she tried standing, wobbly and disoriented, she instinctively grabbed Cullen’s forearm to stabilize herself with. Finding her voice, weak and shaky as it was, she apologized.

Cullen reassured her that it was “nothing to worry about”, then allowed her to lead while still supporting her physically as they walked.

They finally reached her room, and Ronnie collapsed – face-first – on the bed.

“Do you need anything more?” Cullen asked, still standing at the door.

“Ughhhhhhhh” was the articulate answer.

After a moment’s confused silence, she managed to let out a “no, thanks, go”.

When she’d finally heard the door close, Ronnie burst into tears, wailing into her pillow, hoping not to be heard, and hoping that no one would come.

Somehow, she slept through to the morning. It was a restless, sweaty sleep, and when Ronnie finally opened her eyes again she groaned in pain; even the light through the window was too much. She shut her eyes again and pulled the blanket over her head for extra protection.

As the morning went by, she became aware of her very empty stomach. She’d slept through dinner, and breakfast was, though not far away, looking unattainable at that moment. Her stomach began slowly digesting itself, contributing to her all-around misery.

In the back of her head, Ronnie knew she was supposed to be at her morning lesson with Enchanter Kathryn. She knew she was going to get in trouble for not showing up. Still, she could not move herself out of bed.

She hated herself for being here. She knew she didn’t belong in Skyhold, or in Thedas at all. She hated herself for having magic she could not control. She hated herself for still having her leg pain and her limp, and for talking aloud with cats, and for needing another damn haircut. She hated herself for being stuck in bed rather than at her lesson, learning to control the magic she never asked for. She hated herself for letting her self-hate bear down on her so heavily that she was unable to perform her duties. She also just… hated herself. Just vague, blunt self-hate that she could not identify. She hated herself for not knowing what that hate was for, too.

Cursing her own weakness, she curled up into a fetal position and tried her best to lose consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is a bit shorter than usual, I know, but it's pretty much the best I could make it. There was more planned, but it didn't feel right when I wrote it, and so...  
> But this feels right. I mean, not fun or easy, but right.
> 
> About the increasingly long wait:  
> I've been going through a lot these past months, including some very difficult decisions that I've had to make in my personal life, that didn't really allow for any creative process.  
> I hope to get back to writing more as time passes. This fic is very important to me and I do want to see it to the end.


End file.
